


Honey and Oats

by NightOwlsTeaParty



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25398145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightOwlsTeaParty/pseuds/NightOwlsTeaParty
Summary: You are a newer Statesman agent and let's just put this out there that you've never been a big fan of that Whiskey. In fact, one could say you'd rather have your skull crushed than to even look at the guy. Honestly, you don't understand why Champ seems to favor the guy when he looks like he came straight out of a cowboy porn set. (Actually that might be the reason)However, you soon meet a couple of lads from England that are in dire need of help.You're gonna have to suck up your pride on this one.“He’s the only other agent with enough experience for the case. One job together ain’t gonna kill the two of you.”“I’ve got enough experience on my hands, I can handle it!”
Relationships: Jack | Whiskey/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. Sour Henry Cocktail

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second fic with any of Pedro’s characters! I’m still rewatching the movies to get a better hold of their personalities,,, Please be a bit soft with criticism,,,
> 
> IMPORTANT Notes: So, uh, because the movie is set in Cambodia I am gonna make this as an excuse to make the reader I had in mind Asian, specifically Cambodian because that is what I am (Along with the Ezra and Tovar fics I am planning). HOWEVER, I will still do my best to make it as nondescript as possible as to not alienate anyone. (also I have an idea but that may just be more work for me) The reader is also Nonbinary who doesn’t really care about pronouns so Whisky WILL use Femme pronouns AT FIRST but it WILL change later to they/them pronouns. Also, just cuz the readers for this fic and the upcoming Ezra and Tovar fics are with Cambodian readers in mind, does NOT mean those two characters will have strictly Asian readers. Only for these three upcoming fics they will an Asian reader, any fic onwards (Unless otherwise stated) WILL be MUCH more ambiguous. I just REALLY wanted the reader for this Whiskey fic because of how Cambodia was portrayed in the movie. (in fact, because of its poor portrayal, it was banned in Cambodia and I just…. I really wanna destroy that drug cartel in this story and tell more of the history and beauty of Cambodia. They kind of did my home dirty and I wanted to fix that.)
> 
> TLDR: Reader is Cambodian for this specific fic because they did my home dirty in the movie. 
> 
> Reader Warnings: Reader has set clothes like armors and masks, but not a set appearance underneath. Reader in Cambodian in mind. Reader is a city kid from Chicago. And some people who use gendered pronouns (only pronouns) will change but some gendered names like “Princess” and such will stay

As usual, Tequila’s the rough ‘em up and rough ‘em up even more kinda guy. The two crashers were two Brits saying something about being invited. Of course, them hacking through the biometric system and putting a hole in the older whiskey reserves wasn't the nicest way of coming in, but, knocking them out before they could fully explain themselves wasn’t either. (Also, you had to admit though. The younger one of the two was _pretty_ cute.) That reminds you, maybe they’re with the other Brit that Ginger and Tequila helped a couple weeks prior… Is that racist?

You and Ginger headed to the Doomsday locker. Ginger said something about the two mentioning Kingsman and how it’s the branch to Statesman and so on. But you just had one question on your mind.

“So, why can’t we go with their story again? They looked pretty desperate, Ging’. Desperate people don’t usually lie when trying to find help.” You leaned back in the chair you sat, legs crossed and right on the table top. You watched Ginger fumble around a bit as she placed the small emblem in her hands into the similarly shaped socket.

“ _Rum_. You can never be too sure. For all we know, they could be using stolen clothes and identities.” She reminded you as she started opening the lock. You just pouted, not to toot your own horn but, in situations like these you had a pretty good gut on who to trust. And anyway, fancy lookin’ men like that don’t come to the farmy south unless they were looking to buy land.

Finally, Ginger opened the doomsday lock, turning around, she revealed a very fancy looking umbrella. On the handle revealed the familiar name of… 

Kingsman, London.

“Fuckin’ hell.” You and Ginger ran out of that chamber as fast as you two could. At this point, Tequila’s probably gonna show them his favorite magic trick of turning balls into ash.

* * *

Ginger opened the door just as you heard Tequila’s baritone voice counted up to three.

“Stop!” You and Ginger moved between the tall cowboy and the strapped down men. “Their story checked out.” The woman quickly grabbed some towels to pat down the sitting men’s laps. You leaned against the nearby desk while watching everything unfold.

“We opened _our_ Doomsday scenario locker and that umbrella was in it,” You tossed the agent the umbrella in question before stepping out of the sitting men’s view. “Kingsman. It’s got our logo on it.” You gave the two a bit of a smug look as if to tell them ‘I told you so’. Ginger subtly rolled her eyes at your winning smirk before apologizing to the two men. On the other hand, Tequila just laughed the situation off as if he wasn’t planning on shooting their friend dead center in the head a few seconds prior. The ‘no hard feelings but it was just my job’ kinda talk.

“Welcome to statesman. Independent Intelligence agency. Just like y’all I reckon. But our founders went into the booze business. Thank the sweet lord above.” The cowboy looked up to the ceiling as if to thank Jesus himself for that plan before pointing to Ginger with the umbrella.

“This is Ginger Ale. She’s our strategy Executive.” She gave them a short nod and a polite ‘hello’ just before Tequila pointed to you.

“This here’s Agent Rum. Sh-- _They_. They’re not the most talkative with most folks, but they sure as hell know how to get the job done.” You gave the men an awkward wave.

“And I’m Agent Tequila.” And with an award winning smile, he sticks the landing. Unfortunately for him, the crowd still remembers the fact they almost got their balls turned to ash by this cowboy so they’re just gonna pass on the whole innocent smile situation. The cuter one of the two already looks exasperated, relieved that the introductions are finally over.

“This is the part where you untie us.”

The moment the two men were freed from their ziptied hell and whisky stained pants they zoomed past the three of you to reach their one eyed friend. The three of you sat down as you watched the reintroduction quickly turn bittersweet.

“So these fellas right here are our Doomsday protocol?”

“Turns out, our founder’s tailor was Kingsman.”

“Why couldn’t _we_ have gotten those fancy suits?” Tequila looked at you in utter betrayal.

“Hey, these clothes are nice an’ all but I dunno. Those suits are _real_ nice lookin--”

“What the fuck have you done to him?” The men returned to the room with angered faces. Ginger explained to the two that the Statesman only have been trying to help the poor man. But since they couldn’t jog his memory with the amnesia and all, there’s not much that can be done. All that the agency knew was that mister butterfly collector was part of intelligence but not whose. Honestly the three of them were lucky Ginger was as quick as she was otherwise he would’ve counted as another one of the casualties in that damned church.

* * *

You and Tequila escorted the younger man that introduced himself as Eggsy, otherwise known as Agent Galahad, to Champ. The moment the three of you entered the room, Champ was already scolding Tequila about his interrogation skills before introducing himself. To apologize for the inconvenience Tequila caused the two men, Champ placed the Statesman’s larger resources at their disposal just before looking at ole’ ‘reliable’ Whiskey with an amused smile.

“Could you imagine us in the clothing business?” You rolled your eyes at the other man’s chuckle. It’s been ten seconds and you were already tired of lookin’ at Whisky dick. Tequila could already see your annoyance with the guy and quickly thought of something to distract you with.

“Hey, real quick, Rum? Could you play bartender?” 

“Sure,” Anything to keep you from looking at the man more than you already have to. You turned towards the little drink making station where all the mixers and some bottles were already set up.

“Got a drink in mind?”

“Bartender’s choice.” A Sour Henry cocktail it is. A Whisky sour with more than a little bitters would be too on the nose.

Eggsy thanked the bossman senior and explained whoever attacked the Kingsman agents was most likely planning for something bigger and that a former trainee of theirs is working with those part of the Golden circle. Said trainee’s ex is still in contact with him and just so happens to be attending a concert. 

You listened closely to what Eggsy was saying, trying to figure out why the golden circle sounded so familiar, as you finally poured the drink in Tequila’s cup. However, your thought process was cut through by something you noticed on the statesman agent. Just as Tequila thanked you and took a swing of his drink, your eyes caught a glimpse of the growing blue veins protruding from his neck.

“Ay Tequila, you feelin’ alright?”

“Yeah, a bit tired, but fine, thanks.” At this point, Champ could see the blue veins on the man too.

“Your face…You got… ” 

“What the fuck?” Tequila finally looked at himself through the cup’s reflection.

Champ ordered him to head to the med bay before whatever it was got any worse but not before having Tequila give Eggsy his glasses. It would be a bit awkward to converse with someone and not see them in this situation.

Champ let out a hefty sigh before giving you and Whisky a sorry look.

“Now, Agent Rum. I know you and Whisky sure as hell aren’t peas in a pod--” You already knew where this dumb talk was going.

“You cannot be serious with me, Champ.” If looks could kill, that old man would have croaked a month prior.

“You’re a talented agent. But you’re reckless. Whiskey is going to watch over the two of you--”

“I don’t need no fuckin’ babysitter, Champ!” You slammed your fist on the tabletop out of anger, toppling over a few of the cups. Eggsy was surprised at the tonal shift from you. Well, he’s even more surprised you talk to your superior that way and he doesn’t even blink an eye. 

“He’s the only other agent with enough experience for the case. One job together ain’t gonna kill the two of you.”

“I’ve got enough experience on my hands, I can handle it!”

“Agent Whisky is going to join the two of you and that’s final.” You opened your mouth but quickly shut it. Even you can’t say anything when Champ’s got the final word in. You could only glare as Whisky gave you the most smug smirk known to man.

“Agent Galahad, our finest senior agent will be joining the two of you. Right now he’s in our New York office.” Mister Boss points at Whisky’s hologram once Eggsy puts on the glasses. 

“Galahad, meet Agent Whisky.” God. You just want to strangle that stupid cowboy with his own fuckin’ moustache. 

“Kid, looks like we’re hookin’ up with a chick at a rock concert.” He gives Eggsy one of his dumb signature smiles. “My favorite kind of mission.” You could only roll your eyes at the flirtatious man’s comment.

“I’m sending my jet to pick you two up.” 

“The old man’s gonna croak before he could get his whisky dick into anything.” You muttered right before Champ gave you an incredulous look.

“Rum, there ain’t no need to hit a man’s pride like that.”

“It’s fine, Champ. Little Miss spitfire over here is just envious--”

“Of what? Da women who are with ya’ for under ten minutes in bed while I’m stuck with ya’ here fer hours? ‘Course I am.” And with the small twitch of that moustached lip, that was enough to tell you even a little bit of his pride was hurt.

“Rum!”

“Watch it lil’ city girl, your Chicago’s comin’ out. That place was never the best about its manners.” Nothin’ but smirk from this old man, as if you _didn’t_ just insult his libido. He really just had to insult your home. You took a deep breath.

“Unlike you, _I_ was raised properly.” You gave Whisky a final haunting stare. “And _You,”_ Standing on the opposite end of where Whisky sat, you got right up in his stoic, holographic space. 

“Were dragged through a whore house.” You turned your back on the man, mentally patting yourself on the back for getting the final word. Just as you got to the doorway, you turned to the British agent.

“Galahad? Let’s get a move on.” 

“Oh--Oh! Right.” Eggsy quickly got up and followed you out the door. Leaving Champ _very_ exhausted at his decision. He only hopes the two of you don’t kill each other first before they could figure this situation out.


	2. Blue Long Island Cocktail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mucous membrane.” Eggsy’s face scrunched up at the first thought that came to mind as he looked at the two of you. 
> 
> “That’s like up the nose, isn’t it?”
> 
> “What the fuck am I gonna to do? Stick my finger up…”  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> “It’s not just inside the nose, is it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter was gonna be longer buuut I decided to separate em and have the next chapter be a bit more spicy

And then there were two. 

Eggsy had to say goodbye to his girlfriend and get the tickets from his contact first before the three of you could hit the road. And because that damn cowboy refused to take literally any other vehicle, you were stuck in the trunk like a sack of potatoes. If you fell off the car, it’s your fault for not holdin’ on.

The stretch of silence was long and awkward between you two. You didn’t bother saying a single word to the man. Why would you? Boring holes in the back of his head with your stare was much more preferable. 

Just as the silence was starting to become insufferable, Whiskey honked his horn to tell Eggsy to hurry the fuck up already. Another second and there won’t be any more Statesman agents on the job. Soon after, Eggsy finally came back out. Three passes right on hand.

“Got the passes from my contact. You’ll love Glastonbury.” 

“Well that’s the easy part kid. Take a look in the glove box.” The younger agent opened the compartment to reveal the chip. And here comes the jokes about the finger condom.

“Fucking hell, bruv. Thought everything was supposed to be bigger in America?” Eggsy looked at you both with an amused expression. “Is that why you overcompensate with these massive cars?”

“Well, Whiskey’s dick _is_ the exception to that sayin--”

“Shut your trap, Rum. It goes on your finger,” Whiskey sticks out an index finger to emphasize his point. “The surveillance tracker is on the tip. Apply light pressure for three seconds to release it,” The cowboy then shoves his said index finger in your face. 

“And you. What do you have against Jack jr.?” Before you could say another snarky comeback, Whiskey snapped his fingers and shoved the index in your face again. “You wanna ride ole Whiskey horse don’t ‘cha? Young girls like you always got trouble articulatin’ whatcha’ want.” The whole time, he just kept waving that damn finger in your face! Just right when you were about to chomp it right off, he pulled it quicker than any man’s pull out game.

“Not fallin’ for that one again.” He placed his hands on the wheel, looking at you via the rear view mirror with a triumphant smile as if he’s got you all figured out.

_Okay._

You _had_ to admit. Whiskey looked really fucking good for his age. You’ll never say it to his face though. It’d be both a hit to your pride and a major boost to his ego. Any bigger and the old man’s gonna pop. But really? It’s just too fucking bad that all that eyecandy ain’t got a good center to match!

“Now, just admit that all this pent up frustration, is cuz you’re into ‘old man’ Whiskey here?” 

“In yer fuckin’ dreams.”

“You’re right. You’re less of a god damn brat in them.” He muttered as he turned the key to start the car’s engine. 

Ugh. He always acts all cool and oh-so suave as if his back isn’t ready to break the moment he picks something up from off the--

 _Wait_ a fucking second.

“Whiskey, did you just-- Oh fuck!” Just as you moved closer to the drivers and passenger’s seat, you were knocked right on your ass. The familiar damn chuckle coming from the driver’s seat. That fuckin’ hillbilly practically kicked the fucking gas pedal just to laugh at your pain!

“You should really hold on kid. There ain’t no seatbelts back there.”

“And whose choice do you think it was to drive this fuckin’ car?!”

* * *

During the whole trip, Whiskey’s words echoed through your mind.

_You’re right. You’re less of a god damn brat in them._

Did… Did he mean for it to sound that way? Like, did he ever _actually…_ Have those kinda dreams starring you? 

You tried to mentally wave it off as him just trying to shut you up, but his fucking voice kept popping up in your head.

_You’re less of a god damn brat in them._

That buttery smooth, low voice of his accompanying those words. You couldn’t help but overthink what he said. 

Sure his glances are a bit longer than what’s considered a normal glance, but that doesn’t mean anything!, and when he gives you a pat on the back after and whenever you’re up in his face, he licks those fuckin’ kissable lips of his like he’s thinking of something he shouldn’t--

Wait.

Did you say kissable?

You meant to say punchable. That cowboy’s face is just… The most murderable, most stabbable, most lickable--

Goddamn it! 

What the fuck’s gotten into you?! The guy admits to having, for all you know, _one_ fuckin’ sex dream about you and you’re just ready to turn to putty in his hands?

Just as the three of you arrived at the concert, you jumped out of the back of the trunk and quickly headed into one of the porta potties. Eggsy looked mighty confused at your disappearing figure as he got out the car.

“Do they know the concert is this way?”

“Well, considering this is a special kinda mission, I’d just say she’s dolling herself up.”

“Why? The target is straight, so it’s just going to be the two of us doing the work.”

“Yeah. But, she _really_ hates it when she ain’t got nothin’ to do on the job.”

Eggsy just shot him a confused look until he saw you come back out from the porta potty. Then everything just clicked into place like a puzzle. 

Instead of your previous much cuter looking appearance. You were (admittedly) quite handsome after your change of clothes and other fixings. You wore more masculine looking clothes, cleaned up a bit, and you--

_Oh._

You did an extra step.

The three of you showed your bands to the bouncers and waltzed right in. 

“According to her Instagram feed, Charlie’s ex-girlfriend is up at the VIP bar. Which one of us is gonna plant the tracker?”

“I say we both make an approach. Whoever gets it on best, goes for it.” You rolled your eyes at the suggestion. Getting a girl in bed really shouldn’t be played like a game.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be a competition, bruv. Why don’t we just go up to her-- shake her hand, pat her on the back, whatever, you know, Job done.” 

“Well, as nice and easy that would be, Eggsy. Last I checked, our hands aren't a mucous membrane.” You sighed.

“Neither is the _back_. They teach you anything at Kingsman?” Whiskey added with an incredulous tone to his voice.

“What are you talking about?”

“Our trackers are designed to enter the bloodstream.” The agent put up his middle and index fingers and made an… Injection motion. 

“If the trackers _were_ attached on the back or something, that’d risk getting damaged in case the target decides to do the ole’ late night tumble.” You added.

“They circulate harmlessly, providing full audio and GPS.” 

“Mucous membrane.” Eggsy’s face scrunched up at the first thought that came to mind as he looked at the two of you. “That’s like up the nose, isn’t it?” The three of you stop a few feet behind the target. 

“What the fuck am I gonna to do? Stick my finger up…” Eggsy paused once he stuck up his finger, similar motion Whiskey did prior. His face contorting into realization as to where else the tracker can be placed.

“It’s not just inside the nose, is it?”

“No, Eggsy, it ain’t.” The oldest agent let out an exasperated sigh as the British man let out a just as annoyed ‘fuck’.

“All right, I’ll take the first crack.” 

“You sure you won’t croak in the middle of it?” Whiskey finally popped his lid on that final quip from you.

“Know what? Since you’re so sure of yourself, you get first go.” You raised your hands in faux defeat as you walked backwards towards the target. You heard Eggsy give you a little ‘good luck’.

“My pleasure.” You quickly turned around and placed your elbows on the bar top beside the woman.

“I am so sorry to bother you little missie, but I just have to say you are _the most_ ethereal being I have ever seen in my life.” 

“Oh? Is that so?” You’ve gotten her attention at least, she’s skeptical but it’s a start.

“Course! Out of all these stars playin’ today, you seem to be the one outshining them all.” 

“You should get better glasses then, it’s only daytime.”

“Are you suggesting the view is even better at night?” You mentally winched at that one. Yeah… Not your best hit.

“Nope,” She popped the ‘p’ before taking a quick sip of her drink. “I am saying that you are clearly blind. You’ve been looking at the sun for too long.” She then turned her head, all ready to ignore you. You rolled your eyes and looked at Whiskey, who looked more than ready to be tagged in, and signaled for him to come over by moving over to give him some space. 

Whiskey practically had a pop in his step as he waltzed over to take your place. 

He can finally rub a victory in your fucking face! You won’t steal anymore of his targets from him in the future! Take that you sexually confusing minx!

Wait that came out wrong--

“Now, I don’t wanna pester you…” Quickly distracting himself from the confusing thoughts, he got to working his charm.The woman turned her face to the new voice trying to get her attention. “But, I just had to know, what time are _you_ playin’?” She let out an awkward chuckle. Whilst Whiskey kept her busy, you ordered yourself a Blue Long Island cocktail and not so discreetly listened in on their conversation. 

“I’m not in a band-- Oh god, who did you think I was? Please don’t say someone ghastly.” she hid her face in embarrassment at the thought. _Great_ , you can see Whiskey’s dumb smirk loom over you now.

“God damn it, now I feel like a fool.” He got a bit closer to the blond and you shivered at the husky tone his voice switched to. 

He was supposed to be seducing her, not you! Get your head out of the fuckin clouds! 

“I just assumed a woman with your charisma… Well, she just had to be somebody.” 

Well… He tripped the landing a bit. 

“Right. Thank you.”

“No, it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to make me feel like a dumbass. So I’ll let _you_ make it up to me by letting me buy you a drink,” Wow, gettin’ a teensy bit aggressive there Whiskey. The blond then rolled her eyes as she stuck up an index finger.

“Follow my finger.” Oh boy. She then swiped her finger to her left twice as Whiskey followed, confused. Wait, was that--

“What are we doin’?”

“Swiping to the left,” You almost let out an unattractive snort. She indeed did do what you thought. “What, you don’t do Tinder in America?”

“Tinder what?” Whiskey still had a dumb smile on and was as confused as a bat during the daytime. God, he seriously _is_ an old man.

“You know what? I think it’s a generational thing,” Eggsy smoothly cut in and leaned against the bar on the woman’s other side. Oh just in time! 

You were just about to leave from the painful cringing you felt from both Old man Whiskey and little miss Tinder over here.

“It translates as,’Go away, old man’.”

Whiskey paused just before uttering ‘Be good, be cool’. Yup. You could see the biggest hit to his pride on his face yet as he walked off to a sitting bar at this outdoor concert. He just looked so pathetic and sulky you just _needed_ to do something to fix that. Without realizing, you were already right behind the man and Champ’s words echoed in your head. 

_“One job together ain’t gonna kill the two of you.”_

You mentally wince at what you were about to do for the rest of the day.

You gave the sad man a firm pat on the back, he turned around with hope in his eyes only for that to be extinguished when he saw you.

“C’mon Weepin’ Willow, I’ll play bartender.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are unaware, reader wore a packer in this chapter to look the part,,,,
> 
> Please leave feedback/comment and Kudos if you enjoyed it! Like many artists/writers I thrive off feedback!
> 
> My Twitter (NSFW, No Minors _Please_ ): [NightOwlsTeaParty](https://twitter.com/owls_tea)  
> My Tumblr: [OwlsWritingCafe](https://owlswritingcafe.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave feedback/comment and Kudos if you enjoyed it! Like many artists/writers I thrive off feedback!
> 
> My Twitter (NSFW, No Minors _Please_ ): [NightOwlsTeaParty](https://twitter.com/owls_tea)  
> My Tumblr: [OwlsWritingCafe](https://owlswritingcafe.tumblr.com/)


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